Long Wanderlust Poems
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Music and romance are camarilla comrades,
just like poems are my shield and arrows.
But not all lullabies of lovers,
harmonise like a street choir of angels.
If love resembles the weather,
then poetry is like a snowflake.
Its fragile abstract nature
can betray the innocence of a poetic heart -
serenading in slaughtered symphonies of silence.
When lust burns in assailable impurity,
love suffers in small doses,
performing a masquerade concealing truthful tones.
So what is the purpose of poetry if it offers no remedy?
Whispering winds form hailstorms in my mind,
wondering if there is a sanctuary
for lonely spirits suffering as seasonally sad souls.
In the midst of melancholic misfortune,
I wish to drown in tepid tides of holy water,
because fate is frozen in winter wanderlust.
Heartache taught me how to be a poet,
each scar inflicted from profound lies and cries.
But what is the purpose of poetry if there is no muse?
In the perception of imagination,
I search for the one
who left frozen tears on my pillowcase.
But her eyes see celestite waves kissing
ecru shorelines under blue pearlescent skies,
blessed with the radiance of saffron sunshine,
in the heavenly harmony of relaxing music.
So, I wonder why she resides in ebony emotions,
refusing to dance, lost in lyrical lament.
Some spirits evolve into envious entities,
but mine just misses the rose window to her soul.
When wine dark skies glare in misery and gloom,
composing ashen clouds to pour in plentiful rain,
I feel the chills of an Antarctic iced leaf on an ice covered lake,
but maintain an evergreen glow,
hoping to forever illuminate like cathartic moonlight -
reflecting upon her bronze fibers.
Opposites attract like fireflies in the night.
I am the bridge and you are the chorus.
so I follow footprints in the snow,
under the guidance of devotary sincere stars.
In the hope we will make melodies at midnight -
merging into rivers of unassailable purity
And If I can't be a poet, then I'll become a poem.
I cannot predict how my ink will spill,
so will you guide each verse to give it a purpose,
breathing my words into life?
Will you love me more than poetry?
Kissing all those diamond promises
into my rhinestone heart -
or will you massacre the music,
abandoning me like an unfinished symphony.
It hovers on the gentler breeze
the scent pf petrichor blown in from the restless seas,
ancient whisps of fallen birch, maples, sycamores and oaks
legendary stories of native American indigenous folks.
Palettes of color shaded hues
orange and yellows, reds and crimson blues
lost encounters of seasonal stories on parade
ready for autumn display of color amidst the shades.
Chrysanthemum, squash, gourds and pumpkins
city folk trading down to become country bumpkins
wanderlust and dreams of open fields freed heliotropes
spaces, chilling in their splendid and vivid kaleidoscope.
9/8/2020
Tania Kitchin's Autumn Fall contest
C ountry roots beckon regrets of past transgression
O ne-way ticket meant to soothe my innermost obsession
M emories of you not fading with passing of the years
I mmortal flame has kept alive cherished souvenirs
N aively thinking I’d drift and just avoid the truth
G ames were played in the foolish gardens of my youth
B almy nights not forgotten in the heat of summertide
A ugust breezes summon me to return home by your side
C innabar and cinnamon reverie of your perfume in moonlight
K aleidoscopic magic remembered in your eyes at midnight
H eartstrings of surrender repentant to bygone wanderlust
O pen your heart and grant me a chance to earn again your trust
M oonstruck and lovesick ready to prove myself and pay my due
E nchanted under your spell I’ve come back home to you
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on February 14, 2021 for contest COMING BACK HOME sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 2ND
Scene I: When It Began
It is a soft-lit evening, my luscious lips ready, blood…sweat… red,
As I wonder just what can excite this insanely wacko head
Much blissful scenes, sounds and songs entertain these curling toes
Smeared makeup, made up again, green mess of hair that flows
When I hear from the other room, a sound quite like a groan,
A deep voice full of chocolate wonder, like a dog…I follow the bone…
Meandering through the hallway, the sounds become ah- thunderous
Till I reach the slightly open door, my eyes search in wanderlust…
And there he is, sitting upright, like a bloom resisting the wilt of winter,
His eyes glued on sumptuous words of worlds I could only dream to enter
A hood over his sexy head, his voice rises like crazed incense,
Then I realize why this winter cannot dare to stop such resistance
He is gazing upon wondrous words, his eyes in tears, lit with glee
I beg for him to look my way…give some of this stimulation to me...
Slowly….inevitably…I make my way to his side
Gazing where his eyes are glued, anxious to be part of the ride
And what I see changes my life forever…verses for longing touch
The oak tree grows, I’m blooming…I’m salivating so much
I take a seat beside him as he utters sweet ecstasy
Swelling ever more tightly, I grow more desperate at his mercy
He guides me into this realm I have never known as long as I have breathed
Now as I wallow in these words… they moisten and arouse each sense deceived
My imagination heightens, my provoked senses he discovers,
I’m anxious to explore this realm with him which now he uncovers
Guided swiftly to his masterful breaths and intentioned exhalations
I forget all past endeavors, all pleasure-based revelations
This is all I need now…. I have exactly what I desire
Just let me rise into the skies and take my place dear sire
What is this happiness I do feel, my growth is all but beginning
Enlightening…enlivening…. Writing in painful pleasure…winning
Don’t stop those eyes from meeting with her word
Don’t let the others in with this- who cares if we’re absurd
We are flying like cocks, winning pride from growing wings
Rising voices…raising flocks… never stopping for simple things
We’re beyond happy baby… for that I am certain…
I am ready on the stage….
Just waiting for you…
To pull that curtain….
I am not lost, I am just wandering
through this forest of words and lines
leading me into unknown places
and times long forgotten.
I am a wanderer, a traveler,
a seeker of beauty and truth.
I follow the call of my heart,
the whisper of my soul.
I am not afraid to get lost
within the tangled web of life.
It is then that I find my way
in those moments of wandering.
I allow my feet to take me wherever,
my heart guides me through the night.
At the uprise of the morning sun,
I'll be ready for a new delight.
The world is full of wonderful things,
and I want to see them all.
From towering mountains to endless seas,
No sight's too great or too small.
So let me wander, let me roam
to lands so far away and shores unseen.
In these journeys is my heart free
And my spirit soars high and clean.
And when I am old and grey,
and wanderings no more.
Memories then to comfort me,
my heart once more to soar.
For wanderlust can never be cured,
a constant flame of fire,
a song within, that cries inside,
longing, some impossible desire.
Have you ever paused to skim a stone,
Seeing the interplay of physics, frolic and force?
Have you ever driven to a place unknown,
Meshing technology, wanderlust and law?
Have you ever danced with your own,
Moved by rhythm, play and gladness?
Has ever a moment’s passion shown
You your part in the infinite pool of being?
What string of happenstance brought you, alone
To here, this spot, reading this?
Whatever your answers, whatever their tone,
They matter not a jot!
What matters is that you have grown,
Feeling joy as part of the infinite intricacy;
Delight that the universal tapestry has been thus sewn.
(alternately titled:
why yours truly crafted six electronic aliases).
No rhyme nor reason beatle browed
beastie boy long ago
created INXS of half dozen
email addresses gallivanting
feigning himself a most sought after
singular modest beau
courtesy crass brazen duplicity
eventually forced to eat crow
campy bonehead devoured carrion
(blech) property extinct dodo.
Egregious discreet escapades
sneeze silly explains at chew
(albeit lamely) philandering,
foolish extramarital dalliances,
I now regret and genuinely eschew
interesting complete one hundred eighty
sobering perspective regarding grandview
emotional shell shocked fallout experienced
courtesy this wanderlust myopic
quite reformed practicing Jew
whose doubting thomas belief, credo, dogma...
closely aligned with Unitarianism milieu
dirty deeds done dirt cheap willingly crafted
previous poems offering adulterated preview
years after, the missus
got told deux gals I did hammer, nail and screw
at present juncture within space time continuum,
yours truly maintains critical view
bespeaking polygamous antics,
now reviled when garden variety
generic primate initially acted cagey
while going bananas within human zoo.
I sought amorous affections
(think verboten fruit) cuz marriage went askew
(daily altercations transpired
between me and the missus),
thus as iterated above
unhappy husband stealthily finagled bravado
(dreamt up one after another digital pseudonyms
blithely cavorting debauchery ejaculating
unsuspecting self incrimination) cyber sex debut
successfully launched prurient hitherto
novel short lived role as Casanova
starring me... Matthew
Scott Harris whose hubris
coursed thru mine every sinew
until... worst fate than being caught
by cannibalistic Zulu.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the stars are out
and the breath of the night is sweet,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ time when wanderlust should seize ¦¦¦¦ my feet.
¦¦¦ I'm glad ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ to leave the splendour of out-of-doors for a human dwelling
place.
I ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ a vagabond who ¦¦¦¦¦¦ liked to
roam
¦¦¦ up and down the streets of the world and not to have a home:
The tramp who slept in your barn last night and left at break of
day
Will wander only until he finds another place to stay.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
He'll sit on the grass and take his ease so long as the sun is high,
But when it is dark he wants a roof ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer knows,
Is just because of the homes, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ to which it goes.
They say that life is a highway and its milestones
are the years,
And now and then there's a toll-gate where you buy your way with
tears.
It's a rough road ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ and it stretches broad and far,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ leads to a golden Town where golden Houses are.
(Blackout of Roofs by Joyce Kilmer)
“Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar.” ~ Delia Owens
When I was born, I clung to my mother,
A little light green being,
God made me so unlike any other,
I flap flutter unmoving,
Thousands of my brothers and sisters live
With me and my mom, all green,
Dancing and swaying with the breeze active,
We rustle, bustle umpteen,
During Autumn, my colour becomes red,
And I know my end is near,
Away from mom's clasp, I will soon be dead,
There's only one thing to cheer,
Now I can go where the wind wishes me,
I will try out my new wings,
All my life passed by, content on a tree,
Now I can explore few things,
Happy, I soar, away from my mom's shade,
Journeying on a new quest,
Fly and glide over the grass and the glade,
Floating, I find final rest.
2nd January 2023
I never asked to be born; yet now I am here
My journey through life is not one that I fear
I cherish each moment I live on this earth
Thank god for my mother for her labour and birth
I sail like a ship on a sparkling blue sea
Try avoiding the pitfalls that may befall me
Rising to the challenges as I navigate through life
Through childhood, adolescence, becoming a wife
We climb many mountains and difficulties we face
That’s the essence of being part of the human race
I’ll never let a new opportunity pass me by
I want to remain living until the day that I die
Jan Allison
08~12~14
Written for Wanderlust Contest Sponsored by Nette Onclaud
~awarded 5th place~